There was something about the end. Something that tore him in two, a rift like a canyon in his very core being. How could he find fault in the perfect, cruel ending? But how could he make peace with saying goodbye to the only person he'd ever truly known? How could he be at peace with something as glorious and terrible as his big brother, this warrior...the righteous man. The passion, the strength, the anger, the illicit sadness. How could he just let it come to an end? And yet this bloody demise, this smiling in the face of death...his head calmly dropping to his younger brother's shoulder. What end could have suited him better? Slipping away in the arms of the only person who had ever truly known him.
Ah, Dean would have been so proud. His body wrapped in white sheets, wood piled into the most perfect pyre Sam had the presence of mind and emotional capacity to construct. And the flames, how the flames leapt towards the sky, snapping and cracking. Like Dean lashing out and grasping for last resorts his whole life. But not this time. This time Dean said it was okay. This time Dean's last breath died away and gave way to perfect peace. Silent, prepared, restful peace. It was the restful peace of a job well done. Saving people, hunting things, the family business. It was completed. Their dad was saved. Sam was saved. The world was saved. And Dean's last breath fades away as the all too familiar weight of him leans into Sam's chest.
That last confession really speaks of who the righteous man truly was. He drove all the way to Stanford looking for the comfort and help of his little brother as their father was missing and most likely dead. And there he couldn't bring himself to step inside, to step back into his brother's life for fear of not being accepted, welcomed back, needed. Sam knew he had been asking himself, agonizing over it, was it worth it? Should he drag Sam back into this life for this? That selflessness paired with codependence would shape Dean into the amazing man he would become. Would pave the road to the amazing things he would accomplish, defying man, hell, heaven, and even death itself.
Creating this powerful, beautiful warrior that would one day find himself outside of the anger and blood and gore...willingly and peacefully surrendering to sweet demise. Finding the strength to say 'the end' in the love he felt for his brother and his world and all the people who sacrificed with him to save all the things he held sacred.
It was the power of that acceptance and the surrender of such strength that gives Sam the endurance to press on. To live out the life Dean had wanted for both of them. And everyday he thinks of the moment when they will be reunited. When he closes his eyes on this earth only to open them...somewhere. He doesn't know where; doesn't know where or how heaven and hell and the Empty all works now in this new supernatural age. Doesn't know where his brother went.
But he does know one thing for sure. Where Dean went, there he will go as well. And there once again they will live out their eternity. Whether it be fighting another war or a peaceful rewarding existence, whether they meet in body, or simply as two souls burning brighter than the sun, Dean and Sam Winchester will be rejoined never to be parted again.
. . .
When he opens his eyes it's to sun. And the trees. His instincts are completely silent, sleeping. He doesn't need them anymore. He just knows it. Instinctually. For lack of any other word. When he walks up on Bobby his soul leaps and aches with happiness. This is the heaven he was promised but never dared to believe in.
He sits. He's handed a beer. He's told his mother and father are just down the road.
It's perfect.
Yet not an atom of his body or soul calls out to run to them. Instead there is still that empty ache in his core.
Almost perfect.
"He'll be along." Bobby says in his simple, all knowing way. And Dean sighs, knowing that once again all he can do is wait.
He heaves a breath and rises, still unable to do nothing. To be still. To be at peace.
"I think I'll go for a drive."
He settles in as familiar as the warm dust covering the black metal and leather. The smell, the aura, spot on. But the sentiment is all off. The fundamental spirit of his life. The very breaths he's breathing, the heartbeats he's beating...the empty seat beside him.
Baby cranks like a dream. But still the sound is a little off, Carry On My Wayward Son is a little off. Hell, he is a little off. Damn himself for dying before Sam. Damn Sam for not immediately following him...of course he doesn't mean that. He simply means after everything they had been through, of course even now, Dean must wait for his perfected paradise.
He disappears down the road and he doesn't look back. Funnily enough, it doesn't even occur to him to go to John and Mary. His heaven has not yet begun. And time is different up here.
He'll be along.
. . .
He can feel the change of air at once. Behind him a warmth blooms and wraps around his senses. Color spreads around him, smells become stronger and his heart, god, his heart beats in his chest like he's never lived before. The breath is sweet in his lungs, the tension in his brow and shoulders melts. It doesn't take a genius to know.
Sam is behind him.
The smile that naturally spreads his lips washes away the last remnants of sadness and unrest. Dean's heaven begins.
. . .
His brother's wide, strong shoulders are the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes. Immediately he knows everything he and Dean had worked for had paid off. They are in heaven...together. Actually dead. No one calling them back, no one demanding their destiny. He feels the change in the air and Dean's shoulders soften. Sam's soul gives a sigh of content and belonging. And Dean turns.
That smile rips into Sam's heart, those laugh lines and green eyes lit up like Sam is everything. The scent on his jacket collar and skin of his neck, in his hair...it's the smell he had looked for all those years in the impala. His brother, his parent, his soulmate.
His home.
"Hey Sammy."
Oh god that voice. The gravel and the fond tone, it rips Sam apart again. The wide hands on his back, the playful look that dwells on the grown out tips of his hair for just a little too long. The tears in his eyes that match Sam's. That say, you're not alone, you were never alone, I need you just like you need me.
"Dean..." he starts and chokes. Dean smiles and takes a step toward him.
"I miss you." He says, as the first tears run down his cheeks. And Dean gives that little chuckle his younger brother knows so well.
"It's okay." Dean says and before he can say anything else Sam has him wrapped in another hug, squeezing him as close as they can get.
"Don't you ever say that again," he mumbles into his ear. "Do you understand me? Don't you ever say that again."
Dean has the gall to laugh. And Sam can only do the same through his tears. But for good measure he shoves him, and Dean laughs, a full belly one this time and it just makes Sam cry harder.
Dean runs a hand through his hair and the sun catches his hints of blond and red, his eyes flash and Sam remembers this man distantly. This carefree, happy regretless man. A boy who knocked on his door in Stanford. Afraid of not being accepted yet more afraid of being alone. A devotion to hunting things, saving people and a love for family well beyond anything Sam had ever known. A love so pure and strong that it paved the road for the rest of their lives.
Platonic was too small of a word for this love. Glorious and sacred couldn't quite sum it up. It was selfless, unconditional...sacrificial. Brotherly love. It was this that made Dean more than the warrior monsters feared, than the killer demons whispered about, than the rule-breaker angels scoffed at. It was this love that made him a phenomena, that shamed and angered and attracted God.
It's that love that allows him now to laugh as he reaches up to thumb away one of Sam's many tears. That lets him leave it all in the past as his eyes rove over his little brother's beloved face.
God, Dean is beautiful.
Sam grabs the wrist of the hand at his face and Dean pauses, studying his eyes to get his meaning. Sam sees the smirk swiftly pass over his face like a ghost. Dean gets it. Gets him. Like always. And he deflects, like always. Some things never change.
"Bitch." Dean mutters as his thumb smooths away one more tear. And Sam laughs through a shuddering breath, falling into his big brother's arms once again.
"Jerk." He mumbles, at long last into his brother's ear.
...the end.
. . .
REVIEW!?
guys...I can't believe I'm posting here for the last time. (Maybe sometime in the future I'll come back idk)
Writing "the end" on an SPN tag for the last time...I had a good cry and my heart broke from fond melancholic happiness at them getting their ending.
I hope this take lends a more fulfilling end for those of us who liked and disliked the ending.
Thank you to all of you who have supported me, read my stuff and left comments over the years! You guys were a huge part in, not only my creative growth, but also my emotional and mental growth. Spn will always have such a special place in my heart. Esp the brothers and esp Dean. I loved Dean Winchester like he was real, he has a little piece of my heart always.
I love you truly, SPN family thank you so so so so much for everything!
FYI (((Random person who hates Sam please:)stop leaving comments:)no one:)cares:))))